Drabble Dribbles
by JantoJones
Summary: A series of Drabbles which all start life as part of the LJ Section VII 'A Little Drabble Do ya' Challenge.
1. Tennis

"What on Earth were you thinking?" Mr Waverly shouted.

The Old Man rarely raised his voice, but Illya Kuryakin's latest escapade had angered him greatly. He could never have anticipated such an indiscretion; especially from a man like Kuryakin. The Russian sat opposite his boss; head hanging in shame. He hadn't meant it to happen. Not really. He'd just gotten caught up in the excitement.

"You only needed to stay in for the first round, to make contact with our courier." Waverly continued. "You weren't supposed to become the Wimbledon Men's Champion."

Illya simply smiled.


	2. Nothing Changes

When he'd left the land of his birth, he'd been Russian. Now, over fifty years later, he was Ukrainian. He still wasn't certain what his feelings were on that score, as he'd live more of his life in other countries than he had lived there. Back then, the world had been on a precipice, and along with his colleagues, he'd done all he could to protect the innocents of that world.

As he watched the news coming from Ukraine, and felt the ever building tensions between Kiev and Moscow, Illya Kuryakin wondered if there had been any point at all.


	3. Too Close

Napoleon Solo was generally a patient man. He could easily sit for hours on a stakeout, with minimal complaint, or spend days sitting in medical waiting for his partner to wake up. Today however, Napoleon Solo was not a patient man. Today, he was pacing the waiting room of a doctor's office, awaiting the results of a test he'd hoped he would never be involved in.

Finally the door opened and a happy face beamed at him. Unfortunately, from where he was standing, that could still mean it could either way.

"Negative," Marcia told him, with obvious relief.


	4. The Game

"I'm not in the mood for childish games Napoleon."

The agents were stuck in the middle of nowhere, having developed a flat tyre. Illya was mad at himself, as it was his car and he had failed to check the spare.

"Come on chum," Napoleon cajoled. "What else are we going to do while we wait for the breakdown truck?"

"We could discuss art, or literature, or even science."

"Just give it a go, you might enjoy it."

"Must it be that game?"

"Yes."

"Okay, it's your idea, you go first."

"I spy with my little eye . . ."


	5. Waiting

How many more times would he end up sitting here? Would this be the last time he watched over his partner, his friend, as he fought for life? Admittedly, waiting was a lot more comfortable since they had received the gift of the armchair, but that didn't make the many hours of waiting any easier. Would this be the time his partner's body finally surrendered to the inevitable? Or, would he make another miraculous recovery and live to fight another day and another foe?

It was still too soon for the answer. All he could do was wait and hope.


	6. Interrogation

Illya Kuryakin stood, arms folded, glaring icily at the man in the chair. After several minutes, the Russian spoke.

"I will discover the truth eventually," he said, with a hard edge to his voice. "You will suffer far less in the long run if you simply tell me what I want to know now."

He was met with a defiant silence.

"So be it. You can't say you were not warned," Illya stated, as he picked up a pair of scissors and a hand-finished Italian jacket.

"Okay, okay!" Napoleon hastily yelled, grabbing for his jacket. "I ate your danish."


	7. Thirty Seconds

Thirty seconds.

That's all the time there was between life and death.

Thirty seconds before the train ran over the tracks to which the unconscious U.N.C.L.E. agent was tied.

Illya Kuryakin had already cut most of the ropes holding Napoleon Solo to the rails. As he worked the knife against the final tether, he resolutely ignored the huge, oncoming locomotive.

Finally, Napoleon was free and Illya dragged him to safety with all of two seconds to spare. Illya lay on the ground and stared at the stars above. One of these days, thirty seconds was not going to be enough.


	8. Sacrifice

"Ready Tovarisch?"

Illya nodded.

Beyond the door, the agents heard screaming. The sound sent a shiver down the Russian's spine and he instinctively backed up to wall. He had no idea how he'd managed to get into this situation.

As the screaming died down, the door opened and a woman beckoned Illya out. From beyond the door they heard an announcement.

"I'm sure you'll all enjoy what we have for you next."

Illya followed the woman and soon after, the screaming resumed.

Solo adjusted his bow-tie satisfied that he'd gotten Illya involved in the U.N.C.L.E. 'Win a Date' Charity Auction.


	9. Anticipation

Ten -

The heart rate trebles.

Nine -

Breath quickens and becomes shallow.

Eight -

Pupils dilate with the exhilaration.

Seven -

Right thumb twitches as it hovers over the trigger switch.

Six –

The ghost of a smile comes to rest on his lips.

Five –

A quick glance round verifies their position is secure.

Four –

A brief mental check to reconfirm the placement of charges.

Three –

A long, deep breath to control his heat rate.

Two –

Eyes close in a slow blink.

One –

Thumb presses down.

BOOOOOOOM !

The ghost smile is usurped by a grin.

"Enjoy that, Tovarisch?"

"Da."


	10. Red or Blue (Hallowe'en Drabble)

Red or blue?

It was not a decision to be made lightly. It was one he'd faced many times, but each time the outcome was different. His hand wavered between the two options, while his tongue poked out from between his lips with the concentration. Which one should he choose this time?

Red or blue?

Red! Definitely red. He went for it, but then quickly withdrew his hand again. Maybe blue. Blue looked good. Yes, blue. But then again. . .

"For pity's sake Illya!" Napoleon snapped. "Hallowe'en will be over by the time you choose which candy to have."


	11. Rain

It had started raining the moment he'd received the news of his partner's disappearance, five days ago. Since then, it had been unrelenting, as though the heavens themselves couldn't bear the loss. He'd worked tirelessly in that time, trying to find any lead to the missing agent's location, but could find nothing. As he watched the water run down his apartment window, Illya wondered if Napoleon would ever been seen again. His contemplation was interrupted by his communicator.

"He's been found," an excited voice told him. "Napoleon is coming home."

The sky outside cleared and the sun began to shine.


	12. Gratitude

Head Nurse Maisie Redfearn had a spring in her step as she arrived for work. Today was the first day in two weeks they didn't have an irascible Russian occupying a bed. The Lord knew she admired the man, but he was a royal pain in the caboose when he was injured. Arriving at her office, she found a hamper of chocolates, wine and vodka. Maisie smiled at the words which were written on the card on top.

_For all the staff in Medical. I know I'm not an easy patient, but please know I'm grateful for you all. INK._


	13. Christmas Spirit

Illya Kuryakin stood back and admired his handiwork. It wasn't the tidiest thing in the world, nor was it the biggest, but that didn't matter. He'd bought it from a thrift store, along with all the necessary accoutrements and Illya couldn't believe how much that small act alone had filled him with cheer. Maybe it was true what Napoleon had said. It really did seem as though, once granted an entrance, the spirit of the season could thrive within anyone. As a finishing touch, the Russian placed small gifts for Napoleon, Mark and April beneath his newly decorated Christmas tree.


	14. Superheroes

Alexander Waverly laughed heartily as he watched his six year old grandson running around in the Superman costume Father Christmas had brought him. The boy had been scolded by his mother, several times, for climbing on to the dining room chairs and attempting to fly off them.

"Grandpa," he called over, as he was grounded yet again. "Are superheroes really real?"

The Old Man smiled as he thought about the agents under his command; people who went above and beyond to keep the world safe.

"Yes, my boy," he replied. "I can tell you absolutely, that there are real superheroes."


	15. Hope and Fear

His heart swelled with joy as his new-born son was handed to him. He was already the proud father of a beautiful daughter, and a son completed his life. The joy was suddenly superseded by conflicting feelings of hope and dread. Hope that the child would grow up to be a healthy and happy man, and dread that he wouldn't be able to safely guide the boy into adulthood. He couldn't know of the terrible horror which would soon consume the world.

As Nickolai Markovitch Kuryakin welcomed Illya Nickovitch, he could only hope his son would know happiness and peace.


	16. Run

"Run Illya! There isn't much time."

The Russian followed hard on Napoleon's heels, without even knowing why they were running. All he knew was that the American had suddenly started sprinting and called for him to run after him. Glancing behind, Illya could see nothing or no-one in pursuit of them, which meant they must be dashing towards something.

"Napoleon, what's your hurry?" he called to his partner's back. "Are we late for an appointment with Mr Waverly?"

"No," Solo yelled back. "We have to get to the end of this drabble before we run out of . . ."


	17. Life or Death

Death, if you're going to take me, then please, show some mercy and do it soon. The pain has gone on too long and it's more than I can endure. I have too many injuries, there's too much loss of blood. Come for me now, Death, and end this misery. The agony is consuming me; it feels like it is all that I am now. If you are not going to take me, then let someone find me. I am begging you, please!

_"__HE'S IN HERE!__Stay with me, Tovarisch.__Help is here."_

Not this time then; maybe the next.


	18. The Beginning

Alexander Waverly patiently tamped down the tobacco in his pipe. He'd known what the man's reaction would be, so allowed him to voice his displeasure at the decision. The agent was one of the best U.N.C.L.E. had ever had and, as such, was given a little leeway with regard to questioning orders. Given the man's military history, the Old Man fully understood, and accepted, his agent's concerns. However, he couldn't let him get too carried away with his rant.

"Your objection has been noted, Mr Solo," Waverly finally stated. "Kuryakin may be a communist, but he's also your new partner."


	19. Strategies

"What do you think, I.K.?

"Your strategies have been too risky," Illya replied. "Your subjects can be unpredictable."

"You're telling me!" Napoleon agreed emphatically. "Between them, they've thwarted every plan I've devised. What's worse is, they don't even realise they're doing it."

"At the risk of inflating your ego, strategies are one of your areas of expertise; especially when plans need to be fluid. You'll come up with something."

Solo sighed with frustration.

"I appreciate your faith, Tovarisch, but I really am out of ideas."

"Then maybe you should simply tell the Waverly's you're organising an anniversary party for them."


	20. On Target

Tuning out all of the distractions and noises around him, he peered through the sight on the weapon. It was ever so slightly off, but that wasn't a problem for a seasoned marksman. The gun was held in rock steady hands as he picked out the target. As slowly as he dared, while ensuring his aim was true, the man gently squeezed the trigger.

The projectile found its mark, and the quarry was knocked flat.

"Oh Napoleon!" cried Maria. "That was amazing."

She kissed him passionately before he handed her the large, pink, stuffed teddy bear he had just won.


	21. A Reason

Alexander Waverly sat alone in the park; well, apart from his three man bodyguard. There were days when he wondered why he continued to fight against the forces of evil. Each time an enemy was defeated, it simply left a space for a stronger one to emerge; and the old man was getting tired.

The sound of several screeching children cut through the maudlin fog in his mind. Mr Waverly watched the children squeal and giggle, as they chased each other around. They were happy and free, and they were the only reason he really needed to keep on fighting.


	22. Secretarial Duties

The expression on Julia Armstrong's face, as she entered the secretarial pool, was enough to strike fear into every woman there. They could tell she had bad news, and that it was going to make life quite difficult for someone.

"Illya is hurt," she announced to the group.

"Is he alright?" Deirdre demanded

"He'll be fine," Julia replied, "But he's in medical in the LA office, not here. Napoleon is here, so you know what that means."

"He'll be doing his own paperwork," said Deirdre, with resignation. "And I have a feeling it's my turn to decipher the Solo Hieroglyphics?"


	23. Sore Loser

"That's it, no more!" stated Napoleon, as he stood up and strode to the drinks cabinet. "It's getting beyond a joke now."

"Calm down my friend," his partner soothed. "It cannot be helped. You will simply have to accept things as they are."

"How is it even possible?" Solo continued. "Tell me that."

"I am sorry, I have no explanation."

Napoleon glared at the innocent face of the blond.

"It was bad enough when you, the communist, beat me at Monopoly. But, to defeat me at Scrabble, when English isn't your first language, is just rubbing salt in the wound."


	24. Hypocritical Secret

Illya Kuryakin had been keeping secrets. Napoleon Solo didn't like it when his partner kept this kind of secret. Especially after everything the Russian had continually asserted to the contrary.

"I don't understand what the issue is," Kuryakin protested. "It's hardly a traitorous act."

"Maybe not in the grand scheme of things, Pal," Napoleon retorted. "But after everything you've denigrated me for, it feels like it."

"I think you may be over-reacting a little, my friend."

Solo sighed.

"Fair point, Tovarisch. Anyway, Del Floria asked me to tell you that the fitted grey suit you ordered from him is ready.


	25. Held to Ransom

Napoleon held out a huge bouquet of flowers and an enormous box of chocolates. The ladies of the typing pool looked into the eyes of the CEA and, as one, shook their heads.

"When you start doing your own paperwork, we'll think about resuming your social life." Julia told him.

"I can't believe this," Solo replied, exasperated. "Is this Illya's doing?"

"No," she told him. "We've just decided amongst us that Mr Kuryakin has enough to do without doing your work also."

"He is, technically, my subordinate."

"Napoleon!"

"Fine," Solo relented. "I agree. Now, who wants to go dancing tonight?"


	26. When You've Got, You've Got it

As he walked along the hallway, towards his office, Napoleon began to suspect he'd eaten a bad clam the previous evening. This was confirmed when he suddenly vomited. His humiliation, at the loss of his composure and dignity, dispersed extremely quickly when several women ran to him to offer assistance and comfort.

From the other end of the corridor, Illya regarded the scene with wonderment. He wasn't unsympathetic to his partner's illness, but he couldn't stop himself from sighing with tedium. Despite looking quite ashen, Solo still winked at Kuryakin, and offered a happy grin.

Illya's eye roll was inevitable.


	27. Travesty

Having spent thirty minutes looking for his partner, Napoleon found him where he should have looked in the first place. He could have easily called him to the office via the loud speaker, but it wasn't an urgent issue. He found the Russian, sitting alone in the corner, scowling into the cup he was holding with both hands.

"You seem perturbed, partner mine," Solo said as he took the seat opposite. "Is there a Thrushie in there?"

"That would be preferable to what is actually in here," Illya replied with disgust. "On what planet could this be considered as tea?"


	28. Medals

Napoleon and Illya winced in sympathy as they watched Mark Slate negotiate his crutches around the commissary tables. He'd recently had his tibia broken in an altercation with a THRUSH goon.

"We should get medals for this job," he moaned, as he sat down. "What's that one the U.S. military give to the wounded?"

"The Purple Heart," Solo told him. "I'm afraid, thanks to our Russian friend here, the idea is unfeasible."

"What do you mean?" Illya asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"With your injury list, manufacturing the medals would be a full time industry. UNCLE couldn't afford it."


	29. Unfair

"No!"

"Please?"

"For the last time Napoleon, no. And don't go giving me your 'I am senior agent, so you have to do as I say' speech, because it won't work. Mr Waverly gave the assignment to me."

"I'll do my own paperwork for a month."

"That is tempting, but Mr Waverly had a very good reason for not giving it to you."

"I've played a photographer before. Please Illya. Call it an early Christmas present."

"I'm sorry, my friend, but I agree with our boss. You would get too distracted spending a week with the world's top fashion models."


	30. Money to Burn

"Why did Waverly want to see you?" Napoleon asked, as Illya entered their shared office.

"Accounting have been telling tales on me," the Russian replied.

"You!" exclaimed Solo, with incredulity. "What could you, Mr So-frugal-it's-almost-painful, have done to incur the wrath of the accounts department?"

"I don't see why they couldn't have brought it up with me before going to Mr Waverly."

"Well?" Napoleon prompted. "What was your terrible crime?"

"It would seem," Illya explained. "That, even in the heat of battle, accounting would prefer it if I removed the money from the exploding money clip before I deployed it."


	31. What's in a Name?

"It's not the end of the world, Tovarisch. It just takes some people a little while to get their tongue around it, that's all."

"Compared to some of my countrymen, I have a name which is ridiculously easy to pronounce. I can accept her stressing the wrong syllable, I'm used to that from you, but how could she get it that wrong? I dread to imagine how badly she would have mangled Nikovitch."

"Give her a break, she's new here.

"How would you take it if she'd called you something like 'Nappow-leyon Sollow'?"

"Not as badly as you, Eel-eye-yar Kerr-yay-keen."


	32. The Truth Doesn't Hurt

Time seemed to freeze in commissary. The words 'Commie Bastard' had caused a collective intake of breath, and everyone watched to see how the new Russian agent would react.

Illya Kuryakin, who was used to such verbal abuse, slowly turned to face the man who had uttered the apparent slur.

"I am assuming you intended for that epithet to be an insult," he stated calmly. "Unfortunately, a person cannot be insulted by the truth. I am indeed a 'Commie', as you so crudely put it. You will also come to learn that I can also be quite a bastard sometimes."


	33. A Restless Mind (Double Drabble)

His glance at the clock was enough to tell him that the hour was so early it could still be called last night. Giving up on sleep for the time being, he climbed out of bed and headed for the kitchen. Despite knowing a glass of warm milk wouldn't help the situation, Illya heated some up anyway. The simple ritual of it allowed his tired mind to dwell somewhere safe for a few minutes.

It had been over twenty years since his family had been annihilated, yet Illya still relived the events in his dreams. It used to be every night, but these days it was down to two or three times a week.

Taking his milk back to the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the battered photo he still had of his parents. Illya had inherited his father's stature and unruly hair. His piercing eyes and shy half-smile were the duplicate of his mother's. He wished he could have saved a picture of his sisters and grandmother, but there hadn't been time.

In his waking hours, they were never far from his consciousness, which was probably why their deaths haunted his sleep.


	34. First Step

Alexander Waverly was apprehensive. The two men knew they were to be partnered, but had yet to meet; therein lay the rub. They were from different sides of the socio-political divide, and Solo had loudly voiced his displeasure at the decision. The American was already waiting with Waverly, when the Russian arrived.

The Old Man watched them carefully as he introduced one to the other. The body language from each was beaming out like a beacon; both men silently stating that trust was something to be earned.

However, hope glimmered for Waverly as they sat down next to each other.


	35. Time Changes

During the journey from reception to their office, Kuryakin and Solo had been invited to two barbecues and a birthday party. Illya had also been invited to a new Jazz club with two members of Section III, and had been offered the loan of a couple of records he hadn't yet listened to.

"What is causing you to smile, Napoleon?"

"A year ago, you were treated, at best, with disdain and mistrust. Now, nobody here cares that you were supposed to be 'one of the bad guys'."

"My preconceptions have also changed in that time," replied Illya, with a grin.


	36. Unbreakable?

"This unpleasantness will be a lot less painful if you'd simply comply."

Illya remained silent, refusing to be broken.

"Very well," his tormenter replied, I shall have to go and bring in the big guns."

Left alone, Kuryakin allowed his agony to show briefly, but composed himself when a second man entered the room. He was surprised the situation had gone this high up.

"I do not appreciate being dragged down here, Mr Kuryakin. I'm a busy man, not your nanny. You're meant to be a grown adult, so take the pain medication the doctor has prescribed."

"Yes, Mr Waverly."


	37. Context

Sometimes they had the world to save. Other times it was a continent, or a country, or even just a town. Napoleon Solo took pride in each and every life which was saved by his hand.

Then there were the little rescues. Events that didn't matter in the grand scheme, but to single individuals were a matter of the utmost importance.

Napoleon had seen the teddy bear falling from the stroller, and the look of pure joy on the child's face when he returned it, felt just as good as any large rescue.

It was all a matter of context.


	38. The Waiting is the Worst Part

Napoleon paced back and forth, as he had been doing for the last hour, pausing every so often to glance through the window in the door. Through the glass he could see the team was working hard to fix all the damage. If it were possible he would have been in there too, but he was told he would only get in the way.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door opened. Solo could hardly bring himself to ask how it had gone.

"We were successful, Napoleon," he was told. "We got the dents out of your fender."


	39. Decadence

Illya could almost hear his voices of his friends in Russia, vocalising their disdain for his decadent western ways. They would no doubt tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he had grown soft. They would say he had lost the ability to do things for himself. Sometimes, he wondered if that was true, but given he had recently survived a five day jungle trek, while injured, he chose not to worry.

Illya swept the thoughts from his head. He was hungry, and he was going to get Chinese food delivered, regardless of what his countrymen would think of it.


	40. Usurped

Illya Kuryakin was a man who rarely allowed his thoughts and emotions to be known to anyone. Today, however, his body language was broadcasting clearly enough for anyone to read. He sat in the commissary, with his shoulders slumped, and his face etched with abject anguish.

"It was bound to happen eventually, Tovarisch," Napoleon stated. "It couldn't really last forever."

The Russian had received the distressing news only twenty minutes previously. Since then, Napoleon had tried and failed to console the man.

"You'll just have to accept it, Illya," he continued. "Your Survival School scores are no longer the best."


	41. If Looks Could Kill

If looks truly could kill, then Napoleon Solo would not only be dead, but every atom in his body would also have been utterly obliterated. He was well used to the many and varied expressions of displeasure which his partner deployed, and they had mostly ceased to have any effect on him long ago. There were times, however, when he was on the receiving end of one which froze his heart. This was one such time.

"It was only a suggestion, Tovarisch," he soothed, holding his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I simply thought we'd save time by skipping lunch."


	42. Unaccommodating Accommodation

After being jabbed in the ribs, yet again, by a stray elbow, Illya got out of the narrow bed he'd been forced to share with Napoleon. As the exasperated Russian got dressed, Solo stirred and asked where he was going.

"To see if there is another room available. I shall pay for it from my own pocket."

Wincing as Illya slammed the door upon exit, Napoleon decided he would have to make it up to Cindy soon for standing her up three times in a row. After all, she was in charge of the travel and accommodation on this assignment.


	43. Tempting Fate

Napoleon held his glass aloft.

"Here's to another month!"

Illya echoed the toast and swallowed his vodka. The two agents were celebrating making it through a whole month without a single injury to either of them. Picking up the bottle for a refill, Napoleon was disappointed to find it empty. They'd done a lot of toasting, it seemed.

"I'll get another," he slurred, as he unsteadily stood up.

As he began his journey to the kitchen, he misjudged the position of the coffee table, and tumbled over it. He landed heavily on Illya, cracking one of the Russian's ribs.

"Oops,"


	44. Explosive Reasoning

"What is it about explosions?" Napoleon asked, as he and his partner ate lunch. "I would've thought that anyone who grew up in a war zone would despise them."

Illya thought for a moment.

"As a child I was terrified of them," he said eventually. "Then I was taught how to make small bombs to confuse the Nazi soldiers. As I grew older, I became fascinated by the science of how different types of explosives work. In the end, it came down to control. I have little control over most of my life, but I can harness and control chemicals."


	45. The Solace of Solitude

Every day, at 4pm, Lisa Rogers made sure that no calls, save for emergencies, got through to Mr Waverly. For fifteen minutes, she fielded everything and everyone, allowing the Old Man a small amount of peace within his day. He hadn't asked her to do it, but appreciated her for it all the same.

Whatever was happening in the world, whatever disaster or looming terror, Alexander Waverly was grounded by this daily ritual. It was a simple thing, the importance of which had been instilled in him from a young age, by his mother. He rarely missed his afternoon tea.


	46. Fun in Accounting

Walking into the accounting department, Illya immediately noted that everyone was standing around Stefan Reid, the department head. Not wishing to interrupt a departmental meeting, he began to leave again, until Stefan's words caught his attention.

"I've checked the figures three times and I have a result. The total came to $372, and with a guess of $365, the winner is Beth."

Everyone applauded loudly as the woman in question accepted her prize.

"What's going on?" Illya asked the nearest person to him.

"Beth just won $50 on our monthly 'How much of Napoleon's expenses claim will be rejected?' sweepstake."


	47. Silence

The silence was so palpable that he began to wonder if he had somehow gone deaf in the last few seconds. Every one of those seconds felt as though it was being stretched into minutes; or was it hours? How long had he been waiting? How much more time would pass before he knew whether his message got through?

The silence continued for what he could have sworn was an eternity until, finally, the radio crackled to life. The noise had startled him, but he smiled at the next sound.

"We've got your location Illya. We'll soon have you home."


	48. A Break

There was no doubt a break was needed. Even though he was itching to get stuck into the next assignment, the mind and body sometimes flagged. Agents spent most of their time in a state of high tension that, even when off duty, they never truly relaxed. Sinking into his comfortable easy chair, with a glass of tea in one hand, and a book in the other, Illya decided that he was going to thoroughly enjoy his two week leave. He would return to work both physically and mentally refreshed, ready to take on whatever the evildoers had in store.


	49. What Comes This Way?

"Welcome back," Napoleon greeted his partner, as the blond sat down at his desk. "I trust you enjoyed your break and are ready to get back into the swing of things."

"It was wonderfully relaxing at first," Illya replied, "I actually did very little, but then I started thinking about what was awaiting my return."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't normally put much store into such things," the Russian explained. "But, I've had a growing feeling of dread. Like there are people out there who are actively looking forward to hurting me."

Napoleon snorted. "You're just being paranoid, Tovarisch."


	50. A Much Needed Rest

The darkness of the room was wonderfully encompassing. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of the civilization around him, but they were far enough away not to be a disturbance. As he let himself relax into the mattress, he tried to remember the last time he'd had a good night's sleep. He was desperately tired and there was only so long a person could go without proper rest. Closing his eyes, he sighed in contentment. As he drifted into his slumber, a tiny part of him hoped he wouldn't be rescued from the THRUSH cell until the morning.


	51. Taking Care

It took time, it took thought, and it took a particular method. Things could not be rushed when it came to an endeavour such as this. He needed to plan it carefully. Picking up the required steel implement from in front of him, Illya's hand wavered over one section; a corner. After a couple of seconds he changed his mind and moved to a different corner. He licked his lips in anticipation before changing his mind yet again.

"For the love of all that's holy, Illya!" cried Napoleon. "It's just chocolate cake. Stick your fork in and eat it already!"


	52. Heads or Tails (Drabble and a half)

"Heads or tails?"

"What is the purpose of the coin toss?" Illya asked, looking up from his desk. He'd learned from experience not to make a call until he had all the facts.

"One of us needs to sit in on a rescheduled budgeting meeting," Solo explained. "Heads it's you and tails it's me."

"I only do that if you aren't here," Illya replied. "That would suggest you have an early date. Show me that coin."

"That hurts," the American said, with mock consternation. "Don't you trust me?"

"With my life," the Russian stated. "But not with my time."

He held his hand out and waited for Napoleon to drop the coin into it. Reluctantly the CEA relinquished it. Illya checked both sides and discovered what he'd suspected.

"This is double-headed," he said bluntly, before handing it back. "Enjoy the meeting Napoleon. I'm sure your date won't mind postponing tonight."


	53. Irritation

Illya hesitated. He'd been given extremely stern warnings not to follow this course of action, lest he exacerbate matters. However, there were some things which were necessary, no matter what the consequences. He was certain that the initial result would far outweigh any negative outcomes. Resolving himself to his endeavour, Illya retrieved the implement he needed, which he'd carefully hidden from view. He'd just begun to make headway when he was interrupted.

"Mr Kuryakin!" cried Nurse Maisie Redfearn. "What have you been told about trying to scratch beneath your cast? Where did you even get a knitting needle from anyway?"


	54. Untitled PWP

"Illya?"

". . ."

"Illya?"

"What is it Napoleon?"

"Would it help if I apologised again?"

"Did it help last time?"

"Well, not really. You're still mad at me."

"An emotion I intend to hold onto for quite some time."

"I didn't mean it to happen."

"Tell me one thing, Napoleon."

"Anything."

"How can a man, who is so exceptionally skilled at outwitting the enemy, be so clueless when it comes to the machinations of women?"

"I didn't realise what they were getting at until it was too late."

"Obviously."

"We're only judging U.N.C.L.E.'s annual charity talent show. You'll survive."


	55. In a Split Second

Napoleon had less than a second to react, and in that time two thoughts passed through his mind and vied for precedence. The woman was stunningly beautiful. From her perfectly coiffured auburn hair, right down to the exquisitely expensive heels on her small, shapely feet. The hourglass body in between would've caused a monk to question his life choices.

The other thought overrode the first almost immediately. The woman was exceptionally deadly. It was this thought which ran from his brain to his finger. This thought was responsible for squeezing the trigger, and firing the shot which killed Illya's attacker.


	56. A Leopard and His Spots

"Your eye for the ladies is going to get one of us killed one of these days!"

It was a statement which Illya had levelled at his partner many times, but this time there was an edge to it. Of course, Napoleon could hardly blame him. This time the Russian had a fair point; especially given his broken wrist. If Solo hadn't noticed the shapely legs of a woman exiting a cab, he wouldn't have lost concentration and crashed the car.

"Sorry," he said, with genuine remorse.

Illya noted the tone and waved away the apology. Napoleon would never change.


	57. Arrival

He'd faced a lot of opposition, not least from his closest advisors, but he knew it was the right move. The young man had excelled at everything which was thrown at him and deserved the opportunity on offer. He had a skill set which had proven useful, but which hadn't been allowed to flourish. Here, he'd be given a looser rein, which should hopefully produce the right results.

The intercom on his desk buzzed and he was informed the man had arrived. Waverly stood up and held his hand out to the new arrival.

"Welcome to New York, Mr Kuryakin."


	58. Under the Surface

Looking deeply into the gaze of the eyes reflected in the rest room mirror, he could see the man inside. Very few people were aware of the hidden side to his personality. He disguised it well, and there was only really his partner who saw what he could see now.

Smoothing down his tie, he set his expression to what everyone expected to see and stepped into the corridor. Almost bumping into Meaghan, Napoleon smiled his multi-watt grin and apologised. She melted with the twinkle in his eyes. She couldn't see the weight of the world lurking behind the twinkle.


	59. Intelligence Glitch

Disable the security systems, break into the building, locate the laboratory, steal the formula, exit the facility, reinstate the security and head back to HQ. Even when the details had been fleshed out, and contingencies devised, it had seemed like a simple and straightforward endeavour. It was just a shame that their intelligence section had pinpointed the wrong building.

It had taken all of Mr Waverly's considerable diplomatic abilities to defuse the situation which developed as a result of the mistake. It hadn't been easy to negotiate the release of Solo and Kuryakin from one of the NYPD's administrative buildings.


	60. A Simple Request

Napoleon paused outside his office door and took a deep breath. The news he had for Illya was not good, and he was loathe to deliver it. The CEA had honestly tried to get a positive decision for Russian's request. He had flexed the power of his position and had used every ounce of his charm, but it was all for naught. He took another breath and stepped into the office.

"What is the answer?" Illya asked, his voice laden with hope.

"I'm sorry Illya. The commissary refuse to serve Shchi* because they say the smell would drive everyone away."

_*Russian Cabbage Soup._


	61. Duty of Care

"Are you saying it is an immediate problem?"

"Not immediate, no."

"So what are you telling me?"

"You must understand, Mr Waverly. There is only so much punishment the human body can take before it starts giving up. All section 2 agents have a habit of getting injured, but the worst are Solo and Kuryakin. The latter should have a medical team with him at all times."

"Doctor, if you would like to suggest to my lead agents that they take more care, and not get injured so much, go ahead."

"Erm, Maybe I'll see how things go, for now."


	62. Untitled

Alexander Waverly was man who expected his orders to be followed and his rules to be obeyed. He also understood that things weren't always black and white, and that because of this, orders and rules were occasionally reinterpreted or ignored altogether. He hadn't reached his age and position by being inflexible or dictatorial. As long as circumstances were mitigated, he was content to allow his agents a little free rein. Solo and Kuryakin, however, often stretched the rein to breaking point

"Who would like to explain why two of our vehicles are in the Hudson, and how the suspect escaped?"


	63. Another Loss

With a heavy heart, Alexander Waverly stepped into the room where his CEA had gathered all available Section 2 and Section 3 agents. As he looked around the assembled men and women, he saw the same look of sorrow and anger on each of their faces. He had no doubt he would see the same expression in the mirror.

As chief, the grim task which he was about to instigate fell squarely on his shoulders.

It was always difficult when an agent was lost, but death was somehow more preferable than the defection they all now had to deal with.


	64. A Vital Rescue

Napoleon had been searching for his partner for several minutes, but had not yet been successful.

"Have you seen Illya?" he asked the next person he passed.

"I saw him going to the commissary."

Arriving at the commissary, Napoleon found his partner, along with several other people, tucking into mountains of food.

"What's going on?" he asked, sitting down opposite Illya.

"I have been called upon to help with a rescue mission," the Russian replied, with absolute seriousness. "The freezer has suffered a breakdown, and this food was in danger of spoiling. The cook requested for us to save it.


	65. Misty

Illya was not a lover of fog, but as he crept along the mist-shrouded beach, he was grateful for its cover. It meant he could approach shack virtually unseen. The one man on guard had no idea of Illya's presence until he felt a thud at the base of his neck.

Checking there was no-one else around, the Russian took the insensible guard's keys and unlocked the door of the shack. Inside, he found a bound Napoleon Solo. He released his partner and helped him to his feet.

"It's about time, "Solo complained. "This damp fog is ruining my suit."


	66. Too Easy

The top team of U.N.C.L.E. New York were travelling back from a successful mission. Illya was driving, while Napoleon seemingly dozed.

"Do you ever feel like it is sometimes too easy?" Solo murmured, without opening his eyes.

"Easy?" Illya replied, with incredulity. "We've just prevented the abductions of three congressmen and two senators. It took two weeks of careful research and planning, followed by three days moving the five men around to confuse their abductors. What was easy about all of that?"

"Neither of us was captured, or tortured, or even injured."

Solo could almost hear the inevitable eye roll.


	67. Never Good Enough

Napoleon kept his hands raised and his stance impassive. There was no doubt his captor would fire if he moved. The man was babbling about how the capture of Solo would be his ticket to greater things, and Napoleon was happy to let him continue. While the gunman was fantasising about his future, it meant he didn't notice what Solo could see coming. It was until Illya's gun was pressed against the back of his head that he realised his career wasn't going to advance.

Napoleon grinned.

"Couldn't you have snuck up behind him a bit little quicker than that?"


	68. Evaluation

Napoleon Solo was a man of action. Sitting in an office for hours on end was not his idea of fun. Ordinarily, he tried to pass his paperwork off on his partner, but this time it wasn't an option. As CEA it was his job to complete the Section 2 evaluations.

He'd finally reached the last one, which was also the most difficult; that of I. N. Kuryakin. He had to be careful what he wrote in case he was seen to be biased in his opinions. After a lot of careful thought, he settled for two words.

Exceeds expectations.


	69. The Telephonist

*Ring ring*

"Kuryakin . . . No, Miss Evans, I don't know where Napoleon is."

Illya replaced the telephone receiver and returned to his report.

*Ring ring*

"Kuryakin . . . No, Miss Sheldon, Napoleon is not here."

This time the receiver was slammed down.

*Ring ring*

"Kuryakin . . . All I can tell you, Miss Montgomery, is that Napoleon is here somewhere."

*Slam*

*Ring ring*

"Kuryakin . . . I neither know nor care."

*Slam*

Snatching up his typewriter, Illya stormed from the office, just as Napoleon entered.

"Going somewhere, Tovarisch?"

"Grand Central Terminal! There'll be fewer interruptions!"


	70. Untitled 2

"Dr Tate has been on the telephone, dear," Veronica Waverly informed her husband, after he kissed her hello. "He says he tried to ring you at the office but Miss Rogers kept telling him you were in a meeting. Are you avoiding him again?"

"It's only my annual physical, my dear," he replied. "He'll tell me that I need slow down, make way for a younger man, and enjoy a restful retirement. As I have told him many times, I have no intention of slowing down. I'll rest when I'm dead."

Veronica gently kissed him.

"Don't make it too soon."


	71. Extracting a Confession

The prisoner sat, shackled to the chair, in the centre of a featureless room. His captor, who was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, hadn't asked a single question. For twenty-five minutes, he had done nothing but slowly sharpen the cutting edge of his knife. Finally, he stopped and held the knife up to inspect it properly, before trying a couple of experimental slashes through the air.

"Okay," the prisoner suddenly cried, with sheer terror in his voice. "I'll tell you everything you want to know."

"Thank you," replied Illya Kuryakin, re-sheathing his blade. "I'll just go and get a pen."


	72. Flowers

Having spent a week in enforced confinement, Illya was actually looking forward to seeing the office he shared with Napoleon. As the door slid open he found he could barely get in for the absurd amount of flowers filling most of the space.

"Napoleon, must you keep the gifts from your conquests in here?"

Moving precariously past the many bouquets and baskets, Solo came out to greet his partner.

"These are nothing to do with me," he told the Russian, with annoyance. "They are from your admirers, but the nurses wouldn't allow them into medical.

Illya tried not to smile.


	73. Survival Tactic

Illya Kuryakin could be terrifying when he wanted to be. He often played up to his ice prince image, but only because it meant people left him alone to get on with his day. It wasn't that he was anti-social; he had simply learned throughout his life that developing too many friendships could be dangerous. As a result of this he did whatever he could to keep people at arm's length, without actually alienating himself. He was quite proud of his new tactic.

"Quit smiling, Tovarisch. You're scaring everyone."

"That is the intention. People were becoming a little too familiar."


	74. The Time Had Come

The time had come.

There was no way to put it off any longer, and he'd been more or less ordered to finally take action by Mr Waverly. He'd avoided this day for as long as he could, using assignments and other duties as excuses, but he had finally run out of justifications. Besides, he knew it was something that he needed to do. There were issues, which he had known for a long time, needed to be addressed. So, with reluctance, he took the step.

Taking a deep, breath, Illya Kuryakin knocked on the door of the U.N.C.L.E. psychiatrist.


	75. Pain

Napoleon was once again experiencing the agony which resulted from the not-to-gentle ministrations of another THRUSH torturer. He found himself momentarily wishing that his retirement was a little closer than it was.

Movement in front of him dragged his attention back to the present and he braced himself against whatever the woman had in store. He winced and hissed at her touch.

"What is it with you men?" the nurse exclaimed. "You can go through any amount of beatings without uttering a sound, but dab at you with a damp cloth and you act like it's the worst pain ever."


	76. Idiot Box

The sight which greeted Napoleon Solo, as he stepped into his partner's apartment, was not one he had been expecting.

"When did you get that?" he demanded, pointing at the new arrival. "You said they were an unnecessary distraction, and that you preferred books."

"Three weeks ago," Illya replied. "As I am living in this country, I thought a television would be a quick way of learning about it."

"So it has nothing to do with Tom and Jerry then?" Solo asked, with a voice full of innocence.

"Not at all," Illya replied.

His blush, however, told a different story.


	77. A Matter of Timing

Two men leaned against the bar. Neither of them had spoken, save to order their drinks. Both were caked in mud and dust, and the shorter, blond one had blood running down his face from a small wound in his temple.

The drinks were delivered; a vodka for the blond, and a scotch for the brunet. They raised their glasses in a silent toast before knocking the spirits back in one swift motion.

"This is just a suggestion, Tovarisch, but do you think you could make the bomb timer slightly longer next time?"

"We're alive, therefore the explosion was successful."


	78. In Memory of Robert Vaughn

"Do you ever wonder if we'll survive this job?" asked Napoleon Solo, following yet another narrow escape.

"I do not doubt it my friend," replied Illya Kuryakin, steering the vehicle away from the explosion behind them, before coming to a stop. "We will both live to a ripe old age, having had very long and very happy lives."

"It isn't like you to be so optimistic, Tovarisch," Solo said, with a wry smile.

"The best way to beat the enemy is to outlive them," Illya told him with utter conviction.

"In that case, here's to a long life, well lived."


	79. Angel & Demon

Nurse Redfearn looked in on the sleeping form of Illya Kuryakin and smiled. He looked so serene and, with his mop of baby-fine blond hair, he looked positively angelic. It always amazed her how a man, who had seen the terrible things he had throughout his life, could look so innocent when he slept.

In a few hours he would wake, and the angel would be gone. Mr Kuryakin hated being confined to medical and could be exceptionally demonstrative in his displeasure. No-one ever blamed him for it, but it was going to be a busy and chaotic few days.


	80. Returning the Favour

Napoleon Solo was almost walking on air as he headed towards his office. After six months of trying, he'd finally persuaded Anita Symonds, from the translation team, to have dinner with him. His only problem was the stack of paperwork awaiting his attention, but he was certain he'd be able to persuade Illya to do it for him. His partner usually said yes; eventually.

However, entering the office, he found it lacking in Russians. Instead, his paperwork had doubled, and there was a note on top.

_Time for you to return the favour, my friend. I have a date. I.N.K._


	81. The Trap

The trap had been set, and the lure had been sent. All he had to do was wait for his targets.

Solo and Kuryakin had bested him once too often, and Central were growing tired of his constant failure to capture them. This time though it would be different. This time he had made sure to eliminate any variable which could scupper whole plan.

The sound of two weapons being readied caused him to spin round, and he found himself looking into the faces of his prey.

"I do hope you weren't waiting for us," Solo said, with a smile.


	82. Birthday Wishes

"So, what do you want for your birthday?"

"It is not my birthday for another two weeks."

"Twelve days actually."

"The number of days is irrelevant, Napoleon. You know that my birthday holds no interest for me."

"I'm getting you a gift anyway, so you may as well tell me what you'd like, rather than risk getting something you don't want."

"All I want is a quiet day to myself, free of any risks to my life. Also, and I'm only going to say this once, under no circumstances do I want any sort of party."

"Whatever you say, Tovarisch."


	83. Feeling the Guilt

Illya released a sigh which told his partner of an internal conflict. A few feet in front of him lay the body of the man he had just killed.

"What's up?" Napoleon asked.

"I had no sleep darts, so had to use bullets," the Russian told him. "I had not intended for it to be a kill shot, but he turned to shoot one of the hostages."

"You did what you had to, Tovarisch."

Illya sighed again.

"When do I get to stop feeling the guilt of it?"

"The day you stop feeling it, is the day you walk away."


	84. Prepared

"I don't suppose you have anything which could help us out of this," Napoleon asked, indicating the locked door of the cell.

"Of course," Illya replied. "We could use my shirt buttons, or the tip of my belt, or maybe even my tooth cap. But then again, there are the ends my shoe laces, the contents of my left heel, and the stitching on my handkerchief. Oh, and I also have my money clip and some fake breath mints."

"I have to say, Tovarisch, I think you may just be carrying a little too much explosive material around with you."


	85. When the Time Comes

Nobody ever knew when it would happen, but they were always ready for when it did. Two or three days before hand little signs and hints would begin to be noticed. As it didn't happen anywhere near as often as many would have liked, a lot of planning and strategizing was required. They needed to make sure that they were in exactly the right place, at exactly the right time to stand any chance of benefitting. So much was to be gained that all the women were more than ready when Illya Kuryakin was on the lookout for a date.


	86. A Necessary Carnage

The targets fell under the onslaught of bullets. They hit the floor in silence; their forms peppered with many holes. The gunman grunted in frustration at being forced to pause through lack of ammunition. In a matter of seconds, he was once again ready to bring carnage and destruction, and did so with alacrity.

"Do you feel better now?" Illya asked, as he watched a fresh set of targets being set up.

"Getting there," Napoleon replied tersely, reloading his weapon yet again. "I hate it when an assignment goes wrong."

With that, another row of cardboard people met their end.


	87. A Steady Hand

His hand shook as he aimed his weapon at the despicable man in front of him. It was a man who had been responsible for the deaths of dozens of people, and who had revelled in each and every one.

He brought his other hand to join the first, hoping that the double-handed grip would steady his aim. His shaking only seemed to intensify as the anger within him fought with his sense of justice.

A third hand was laid on top of the weapon and gently forced him to lower it.

"This is not our choice to make, Tovarisch."


	88. Serendipity

"So it was an accident?" asked Mr Waverly.

"Yes Sir, a serendipitous one," replied Illya. "Two lab technicians bumped into each other. They dropped the solutions they were carrying, which broke and mixed together. They then noticed a strange reaction. After a bit of experimentation, we've managed to develop a spray which does this."

He sprayed the square the of glass, which he had set up, with solution. Mr Waverly watched, with astonishment, as the glass melted from the frame.

"We only need to develop a delivery system which can be secreted upon the person."

"This is an excellent work, Mr Kuryakin," Waverly praised, as he took his leave. "I'm sure it will be a useful tool in an agent's arsenal."

Napoleon, who had stayed quiet throughout the demonstration, waited until the Old Man had gone before saying anything.

"Who are these lab techs?" he asked. "That seems like in unlikely occurrence for people trained to handle chemicals."

"I don't remember their names," Kuryakin replied, a little too quickly.

"I knew it! You know the names of everyone who works in theses labs. You're the one who had the accident."

"Da, but Mr Waverly has no need to know that."


	89. Keep Calm and Carry On

"I hate days like today," stated Napoleon, as he took his seat in Mr Waverly's office.

"What do you mean?" asked Illya.

"When something big happens and it makes the whole world jittery," Solo replied.

"Those things happen all the time."

"I know, and each time it makes me nervous. You never know who's going to take advantage while everyone else has their attention on one thing."

"Indeed, Mr Solo, but it doesn't change our aims or our duty," said Mr Waverly as he sat down. "We will simply carry on doing what is needed to keep this world safe."


	90. Fog

Illya Kuryakin had spent three days bringing the information to New York HQ. Its importance was vital for global security, but he had deliberately taken the slowest route he'd dared. THRUSH were aware that he had the information, and he knew that they would assume he would get it back as quickly as possible.

Just before arriving back in the city, via bus, Illya realised that this was the most dangerous part. New York was swarming with THRUSH and he could be recognised at any moment. However, he almost grinned as they travelled through the city, to a bus station only a couple of blocks from HQ. A thick fog had descended, obscuring anything which was more than an arm's length away. Thanks to this good fortune, and the grey suit he had chosen to wear, Illya successfully delivered the information; walking past two THRUSHes who were waiting for him.


	91. Couldn't Wait

Illya Kuryakin was hungry; which wasn't unusual. As he headed, on foot, back to HQ, he found himself salivating at the thought of the Thanksgiving dinner that was being served in the commissary.

Passing the many restaurants and delis of the city, he felt his stomach rumble, and decided he couldn't wait until he got back to the office. He went straight into the next restaurant he came to.

An hour later, Illya arrived at work, where Napoleon told him that the cook had put him a large plate aside.

"No thank you, Napoleon. I'm not hungry."

Solo stood, open-mouthed.


	92. Think Again

"So, I was thinking . . ."

Illya sighed loudly. Sentences that began with those words never boded well.

"Hear me out before you say anything."

"Forgive me, Napoleon. Please tell me the idea you've had which will no doubt land me in a situation I do not like."

"Don't be like that. I was just thinking that, if you take my dead-drop this evening, I can take Olivia from accounts to the theatre.

Illya said nothing. He simply picked up his coffee and walked out of the commissary.

"I'll take that as a no then," Solo called after him.


End file.
